Talking to Myself
by SparkilyDragnStikers
Summary: I should be able to be happy, Poppy!" Snape shouted. "I should be able to be glad that he woke up and has energy to speak and smirk and curse and insult and be Draco Malfoy without even recovery time. This shouldn't be happening!"
1. Default Chapter

Okee dokee! here it is, my first ever full-length story! Yayness! It's basically Malfoy's really awful sixth year after he unwillingly becomes a Death Eater, so if you like Draco angst, I think you'll enjoy it. (Oh, and there's some DM/HG stuff, but it's not the center of the story at all, just so you know!) So, I shant babble anymore, and shall let you get on with reading.

Disclaimer: i'm not special like JK Rowling, therefore i own absolutely nothing!

He examined his reflection in the antique mirror on the bathroom wall. His blonde hair looked fine; he'd slicked it back for the occasion. His robes were fine; the best, most expensive black dress robes from a prestigious shop in Knockturn Ally. The only issue was the huge, purple bruise on his pale cheek. He touched it gently. Normally, his father wouldn't have let him leave the house with that bruise, so no one would get suspicious.  
  
But Voldemort doesn't care if you beat your children.  
  
In fact, the Dark Lord would probably just criticize his father for using his fist instead of a more painful curse.  
  
"Draco!" called an angry voice from downstairs. "Get down here now Draco, you're going to be late for your initiation!"  
  
"I don't want to go," He muttered sadly to himself. "I'm not feeling very well, Father, can we do this another time?!" he yelled back. A knot twisted up in his stomach. He didn't want to go.   
  
"Get down here this instant, Draco!" This miserable teenager could just see the expression on his father's face. It was probably bright red and angry. Very angry.   
  
But he was angry too.   
  
"I'm not going!!!" The anger and worry that had been bottled up exploded. He was breathing heavily. He looked again at his reflection. He saw the hair and eyes he had inherited from the one person he hated above all others. He saw his father there, in the grey of his irises.   
  
"I refuse to be like him," he whispered. His grey eyes mocked him. He gripped the sink so hard his knuckles were white. "You're a Death Eater," the silver pools said. "It's in your blood. Don't deny it. A young, bright male; exactly what Voldemort needs. It will be so easy for you to gain power and honor. Make your father---." But his eyes had stopped teasing. He had closed them. He never wanted to look at his dumb reflection again. He looked too much like his father.  
  
"Stupid mirror," he said, slightly out of breath.  
  
"Draco, what the hell are you doing up there?" Father called in response to the fact that he still wasn't downstairs.  
  
"Nothing," Draco replied.  
  
"I'm giving you to the count of three to get down here! One!" He seriously considered just going, but he knew that's what his father had done. "Two!" He refused. "Three!"  
  
Draco had expected his father to come up and get him violently, but he didn't.   
  
"Come on, Draco, go downstairs," said a peaceful voice in his head. Downstairs. Yes, that sounded good.  
  
Part of him knew what was happening as he slowly descended the sweeping staircase, but that part wasn't as strong as the kind voice in his head. He very rarely heard anyone speak so nicely to him. Maybe if he did what they said, they'd keep talking in that sweet manner.   
  
But the second he arrived at the front door, the Imperious Curse lifted and he was again alone. Actually, he was worse than alone. His father was glaring at him with a look of deepest disgust.   
  
"I'm not going, Father. I told you last night. I don't want to." said Draco boldly. What did he have to loose? His life? Ha, as if that mattered to him.   
  
Father gave a fake smile, then lifted his wand. "CRUCIO!" he shouted.  
  
Draco screamed in agony and fell to the floor. Pain enveloping every inch of his body.  
  
"So boy," Father sneered. "Are you going to be a Death Eater or not?"  
  
Draco tried to not answer. He really did. But his body would not let him endure the pain and unwillingly he yelled, "Yes, yes, anything! I'll go, I'll go!!!!!!!!"   
  
Then, as suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone, leaving a numb feeling all over him.   
  
He stood up on wobbly legs and dusted off his robes.   
  
A feeling of intense hopelessness settled in the pit of his stomach as he bid his mother farewell and climbed into the front seat of the bewitched family car beside his father.  
  
He turned up the radio loud and closed his eyes, trying to get lost in the hard-rock melody.  
  
"Draco," said Father after pulling out of the driveway. He turned the radio off. "Draco you and I need to have a talk."  
  
Draco did not look at his father. "Let's see: you've already given me the Malfoys Are Better than Everyone talk, the sex talk, and the Death Eater talk. There's nothing more to talk about." He turned the music back up to full volume.  
  
"Draco Thomas Malfoy, you listen to me!" he snarled, shutting off the radio again in an unnecessarily violent manner. "You will uphold the family honor. You will not embarrass me tonight young man, do you understand? I've waited for this moment since you were a little boy. You're going to be the Dark Lord's pride and joy. Fresh, young blood is exactly what he's looking for. And you're still in Hogwarts! In a perfect position that no other can accomplish at his or her age! Draco don't you understand…….." Father kept rambling on, but Draco heard no more of what he was saying.   
  
Voldie's pride and joy huh? He had never brought his own father any pride or any joy, so what difference would it make with Voldemort?   
  
He hated his father more than anyone or anything in the world. Oh right, next to his life. He'd grown up both physically and emotionally abused by that stupid man. He remembered the time he had gotten a kitten for his sixth birthday. His father had waited a few days, for him to bond with it, then forced Draco to watch as he performed Avada Kadavera on the poor, helpless fuzzball. He had watched in horror as life silently escaped its little body.  
  
He needed to see death his father had said. You can't cry you little wimp boy, it's only a stupid kitten! Then he had received a small smack on the head. It hadn't seemed small at the time, but it did after finding out how much harder Father could hit.   
  
But that wasn't the problem, he could handle that. So what if he had bruises here and there, it didn't really matter all that much. The problem was more that his father never said a kind thing to him. Never. Not so much as a "good morning" without a sneer behind it. Draco had been a dreadful disappointment, and he had never known exactly why. Nothing he did was right. But probably the worst part of this was that he still loved his father, no matter how much he hated him. He respected him so much that he just went along with all of it.   
  
The worst problem probably came from him not wanting to join Voldemort. Draco wasn't evil at heart, just mean. There's a big difference. It seemed his father had been ashamed of him since he was a small child. He had been terrified by the Death Eater masks. He'd scream and cry every time he saw someone wearing one.   
  
And to think that tonight he would be wearing one.   
  
Damn, I don't want to do this.   
  
"Draco!" the boy heard foggily, as if from a distance. "Draco, are you listening to me?" He snapped out of his reverie and muttered an insincere, "Yes sir."  
  
A while later, Father stopped the car and ordered Draco to get out. They appeared to have parked the enchanted car in a large, empty field. He got out of the car. The tall grass was unpleasantly wet.   
  
He wanted to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction his father started off on, but that was just asking for another pain curse so he resisted the temptation.   
  
He trod slowly through the coolness of the summer night, careful to remain a good few paces behind his father.   
  
You're a Malfoy, you have to do this.   
  
But why? I don't want to!  
  
You don't have a choice.   
  
The battle between the conflicting sides of him was reaching a boiling point. He was so consumed in his thoughts that he had even forgotten about the world around him; that is until he tripped on an unseen pothole and fell flat on his face. Father turned around and gave him a mildly disgusted look, but said nothing. Draco, who's face had gotten very hot, stood up and brushed the dirt and grass off himself the best he could.   
  
His father turned around and grabbed him by the arm. Draco was pulled forward a bit to a spot where his father began muttering to thin air. Draco knew what this was about, however. It was the spell the Death Eaters used to hide their position. Unless they wanted you to find them, they couldn't be found. Sure enough, a moment later the boy found himself outside of a circle of hooded figures standing around a large, sparkly black cauldron. There was someone inside the circle as well, wearing black robes trimmed with red, but they were not facing him. His father put up his Death Eater hood, so he too was unrecognizable.  
  
The Death Eaters moved aside, allowing Father to enter the circle. He bowed and whispered a few words to the man standing in the circle. Before Draco could even register what that meant, the man had turned around, smiling at him in a way that showed pure evil. Draco choked back a scream.   
  
He had a white face with snake-like slits out of which glowed red irises. He positively radiated evil and Draco was all of a sudden terrified beyond all belief.   
  
He stood dumb for a few seconds before the high, cackling voice of Lord Voldemort shattered the night. "Well my boy, aren't you going to bow?" It took a moment for this to penetrate his fear-clouded mind, but when it did he gasped in horror and sank immediately into a low bow.   
  
"Enter the circle, my dear boy." Draco obeyed. The circle closed around him, leaving him feeling caged in and trapped. Trapped in this circle with nothing but a cauldron and this evil, evil man. He tried his best to look brave. "Please state your name."  
  
For one horrifying second, he couldn't even remember his name. The question had been sprung upon him too suddenly. But this was only a moment, and when he spoke he tried very hard to keep his voice steady, "D-Draco Malfoy."  
  
"Your middle name is Thomas, if I am not mistaken?" The boy nodded and Voldemort smiled wickedly. "After me, so kind of you, Lucius." Father responded with a small bow of his head.  
  
Draco's jaw dropped. He had never before made that connection. However, he was interrupted before he had a chance to brood on that concealed fact.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, if you could kindly calm down enough for us to begin the ceremony." The Dark Lord's high pitched voice mocked. Only then did he realize how badly he was shaking. Everyone could probably tell. He fought to keep himself still. Voldemort smiled.   
  
"And now we begin." Father took his place in the circle when this was said. He would have been indistinguishable from the other Death Eaters had Draco not seen where he stood.   
  
The evil creature Draco had been forced into the presence of began in a highly official and ceremonial voice. "Members of the Dark Council, we are here for the Initiation of Draco Thomas Malfoy, son of the Death Eater Lucius Malfoy." No one said anything. Draco felt his heart pounding so hard and fast against his chest he was sure it was going to explode any second. He tried look unafraid, but the terror so blatantly glittering in his eyes gave him away and he knew it.  
  
"Draco Malfoy, please show your wand." The blond reached into his pocket and drew the exceptionally long and thin piece of enchanted wood from it. He held it out where it was received by bony white fingers and examined by bright red eyes. "Cedar with dragon heartstrings, about fourteen or fifteen inches, if I am not mistaken?" Draco nodded. Voldemort waved it around a little, producing snakes that disintegrated with sickening dying hisses when they fell to the damp ground. "Seems to be in order," he said, handing the wand back to the trembling Draco.   
  
"Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord barked, causing Draco to jump and his eyes to snap back to Voldemort's horrible face. "Are you prepared to face the challenges of being a member of the Dark Council?"   
  
"Y-yes." Draco lied automatically. His father had forced him to practice this stupid initiation dozens of times, making it so the answers to the questions Voldemort would ask would escape his mouth purely out of habit; even if he lied on every single one.  
  
"Are you prepared to perform the tasks asked of you with no question or doubt?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you prepared to learn the ways of the Death Eaters so that you might live up to your position among them?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Draco felt like a pull-string doll. Programmed to say whatever it was his father wanted him to say. He would have gladly chosen to end his miserable life over joining Voldemort if it wasn't for the fact that he hated when his father was disappointed in him. Maybe if he did this, Father would like him; or hell, even just love him a little like he was supposed to do.   
  
Voldemort smiled. "Draco Malfoy, please approach the cauldron." Draco did, but with more than a little apprehension. "Upon placing your arm in the Initiation Potion you will be forever bound to the Dark Council. There is no backing out once you complete this final step. Draco Malfoy, are you willing?"   
  
This time, Draco paused. There would be no backing out. Backing out meant death. He swallowed hard, his head pounding with a powerful migraine. Though he could not see them, he felt all the eyes of the dark wizards in the circle bore into him. He knew, without seeing, the look of hardly suppressed rage that was without a doubt on his father's face at that very moment because he was taking so long to answer.   
  
"Yes." He said finally.  
  
I am just like him, was his last thought before dipping his left arm elbow-deep in the potion that felt like fiery-hot clouds….

Thanks for reading! I love you simply for clicking on my story and reading it of course, but I'd love you even more if you reviewed. Pretty pretty please no flames, but constructive criticizm is a beautiful thing!


	2. Chapter 2

I decided to post two chapters to give you guys a little more so you can see if you want to keep reading or not... plus I have two chapters to post so, may as well! I own nothing again!

Father dropped Draco off at the Malfoy manor and pulled back out of the driveway without as much as a goodbye. He couldn't live there anymore, as he had been placed in Azkaban after it was proven he was a Death Eater, but had been sprung out by Voldemort himself. Even Draco didn't know where his father resided, as he had informed the Ministry of Magic, even under the influence of powerful Veritaserem. No, the only thing the teenager knew was that he was much happier now that he didn't have his over-expecting father breathing down his neck and criticizing his every movement.   
  
Not that he was happy anymore.   
  
He held his stinging arm.   
  
He knocked three times on the gold knocker on the vast oak door, then whispered the family password of the moment: Initiate. He stepped inside the house, which in the day was cooled from the heat of summer by a nice little spell. However, it got chilly at night, so the spell just made Draco feel, if possible, colder. Not that it was that cold outside; the majority of the chill was coming from inside him. Before he could even remove his cloak, his mother swooped down on him, dressed in sparkling mauve robes that clung to her figure, suggesting that Draco was not the only male currently in the house.  
  
"Draco, darling!" she said too cheerfully, pulling him into a rather unaffectionate, too-proper embrace. "How'd it go? Let me see it!" Unhappily, but knowing he had no other option, Draco took off his cloak and pulled up the sleeve of his robes to reveal what was causing his arm to burn and his insides to freeze.  
  
Mother gasped and ran her fingers over the black form of a skull with a snake in its mouth that had been burned into her son's forearm. It clashed oddly with his light skin, making him look paler than ever. She smiled and hugged him again, perhaps slightly proud that her son didn't chicken out.   
  
Draco distinctly heard a muffled cough from the kitchen, as though the person producing it was trying very hard not to be heard. Mother tensed.   
  
"Up to bed with you, Draco, you need your rest," she said quickly, a lot of the fake warmth she often used with him disappearing. She gave him a little shove toward the stairs, and Draco, knowing exactly what was going on and not wanting to be downstairs anyway, climbed them without so much as a goodnight.  
  
"Mum and her men and her wine," he smirked to himself, opening the door of his bedroom. His bed was a four-poster with black hangings, a black silky bedspread, and green pillows. He collapsed upon it gratefully. At his feet was a parchment envelope. Knowing what it was, he picked it up, leaned back into the comfort of his many silk pillows, and slit it open, a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.   
  
"Hogwarts…. Sixth year…. September first…. Yeah, yeah," he mumbled aloud, tossing that bit of parchment aside and opening a second envelope placed inside the first. Just what he needed after the worst day of his life; his exam results.   
  
He carefully unfolded the parchment, wanting this to take as long as possible. "Please, please let it be good…."   
  
O.W.L. Test Results  
  
Draco T. Malfoy  
  
Slytherin  
  
O=Outstanding  
  
E=Exceeds expectations   
  
A=Acceptable  
  
P=Poor  
  
D=Dreadful   
  
Charms……A  
  
"Damn Potter, that's all his fault," Draco said to himself.  
  
Transfiguration……E  
  
"Good," he said, though he didn't think he deserved it. He wasn't great at that subject but his father had known that particular tester.  
  
Herbology……E  
  
Defense against the Dark Arts……P  
  
"What the hell…?" He'd done so well in Umbrige's class, sucking up and everything. "Oh well," he said sarcastically. "It's not like Father will yell at me for that one, since I'm supposed to do Dark Arts, not defend against them."   
  
Potions……O  
  
He grinned wider than he had in days. That's exactly what he had been hoping for.  
  
History of Magic……A  
  
Astronomy……E  
  
Arithmancy……A  
  
"Pretty good, that subject's hard."  
  
Theory of Spell Creation……E  
  
Care of Magical Creatures……D  
  
"'D'!?!?!" he shouted, sitting bolt upright. "'D'!? What kind of awful teacher is that stupid Hagrid, anyway? A 'D'? That's insane!!!!!"  
  
"Is everything ok up there, Draco?" he heard his mother call.  
  
"Uh, yeah!" he shouted back. Whoops, got a little carried away there. He often talked to himself, but he didn't usually yell.  
  
Fuming, he put his grades aside and picked up his new courses. His N.E.W.T. classes were Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms (though it was common knowledge that Flitwick let anyone into his N.E.W.T. class, so that wasn't much of an achievement), and he was also taking The Art of Creating Potions, Theory of Spell Creation II, and Arithmancy II. He was going to need a whole new set of books. Perhaps he could convince Mother to bring him to Diagon Ally tomorrow; if she wasn't too tired that is, he thought bitterly.  
  
But Mother was not too tired, and the next morning, Draco stood outside in the bright sunlight of Diagon Ally, the streets positively buzzing with the voices of other Hogwarts students and their parents.   
  
He spotted his friend Pansy Parkinson outside Fortescue's ice cream place. "I'll meet you in Flourish and Blotts, Mother, ok? I'm going to get an ice cream. Don't worry I've got gold," he added when his mother started digging in her purse. He set off; his swaggering stride returning as he realized his pain would be over in a few short days. He was going back to Hogwarts, to his friends. His father may control his every waking moment here, but at school he was free. Everybody knew his name and either loved or despised him and he didn't much care which, as long as he was stirring one of these emotions in the people around him. He wasn't a "weak boy" there.   
  
He sauntered over to the table at which Pansy was sitting in the shade of a large umbrella, immersed in leather bound book and sucking on the straw of the chocolate milkshake in a tall but half-empty glass sitting beside a stack of papers. He sat down beside her, but she seemed not to notice.   
  
He sat there, smirking, for at least thirty seconds before she looked over the top of her book. She gave a small scream, but smiled when she realized who it was.  
  
"Oh, Draco, hi!" she squealed, putting down her book and giving him an awkward hug from her chair. "Oh my gosh, I didn't even see you there! You scared me to death!" Draco just continued to smirk. He noticed a few things about his friend that were mildly different. Her light brown hair was longer, her face had filled out a bit, so she looked much less like a pug.  
  
"What are you doing anyway?" he sneered. Pansy sighed.  
  
"Last minute homework." Draco shook his head then gave an exaggerated cough in which was hidden the word "procrastinator."   
  
"Shut up!" she laughed. "You know I hate History of Magic more than anything!"  
  
"That's cuz you have the attention span of a two year-old," he teased.   
  
"Better than having one that never ends." She said, nodding over Draco's shoulder. He turned around and saw a lone, bushy-headed figure going through her seemingly hand-knitted purse and he grinned evilly. Exactly what he needed to make him feel better about everything; a helpless Mudblood to torment.   
  
"How ya doin' Mud… er… Granger?" he shouted across the street. She looked up and upon laying eyes on her attacker, gave him a look that told him plainly how pitiful she thought he was. Pansy was giggling. "Shouldn't be wandering around by yourself should you?" he continued. "I mean, it really isn't safe around here for your kind anymore, now is it? Why don't you come sit with us, I mean, I must say," His voice was positively dripping with sarcasm. "It would be a shame to lose a sexy lady like yourself to some big bad Death Eater." Granger stared at him for a moment, then closed her purse and sat down across from Pansy and next to Draco.   
  
He tried to keep his utter shock from showing on his face.   
  
"It was so nice of you to invite me to sit with you, Draco," said Granger in an overly sweet voice. "I mean, you're right, especially considering that last outbreak of Death Eaters from Azkaban this summer. I believe your father was in that group, wasn't he? How's he doing anyway?"  
  
Draco felt his face get hot with anger. Everything to do with his father was a conflicting sore point, including the fact that he had been sent to Azkaban. He would never forgive Potter for that one.  
  
Draco decided to do the only thing he could think of. He turned his back to her, leaning his head on his hand and started to help Pansy with her essay, blatantly ignoring that Granger even existed. She kept rambling on however, about Death Eaters. He tried very hard to block her out. Pansy opened her mouth as if to defend him, but he gave her a meaningful look and she was quickly silenced.   
  
"Hermione?" said a familiar voice after a long while.   
  
Is it Weasly? Draco wrote on the side on Pansy's parchment. Yes, she wrote underneath his untidy scrawl. After debating with himself, he turned around. He couldn't give up the opportunity to torment Weasly.   
  
"Hermione, what are you doing?" the red-head said quietly. Granger beamed at Draco and Pansy then turned to Ron and said sarcastically: "Just chatting with a couple of friends."   
  
"Well if it isn't the legendary Orange Weasel." Draco drawled. "Wait! Don't move, Pansy, you might scare it away. I want to get a picture of it quick." To his pleasure he found that Weasly's ears were turning bright red. Draco continued to watch him as though he were a fascinatingly rare animal and the scarlet tones moved into Ron's face. "Uh oh, I think it's getting mad! Watch out, Pans, in case it lashes out!" Pansy was shrieking with laughter. He hated her laugh, but his love for Weasly's reactions to his bait was greater than his hate for her shrieks.   
  
"Piss off, Malfoy," he spat. Draco gave a mock gasp.  
  
"It's showing signs of intelligence!! This is truly amazing!"  
  
"Ron!" Granger snapped, standing up and grabbing her friend from the back of his t-shirt, as he had just started toward Draco. "Ron, let's go." And looking disappointed, she dragged him off; but not before Draco pantomimed taking his picture.   
  
"Well, I better get goin'," he said to the still giggling Pansy. "Mother's going to be wondering what happened to me." He took a sip of melty milkshake from her straw.   
  
"I'll see you on the train!" she said. He smiled, drank a little more milkshake—it had been very good—and started off for Flourish and Blotts.   
  
He got his books and his potion and spell ingredients, a new cauldron since his was a bit out of date, spare parchment and quills, broom wax, hair gel, everything he would need. He also got a new set of robes, as he was several inches taller than he had been the previous year. New shoes, cloak, and dragon hide gloves as well.  
  
They passed by the new joke shop, owned by those Weasly twins. Loud explosions could be heard coming from inside. The door was lime green and the building around it had been painted in other obnoxious colors so it could not be missed. A neon sign blinking Weasly's Wizard Wheezes hung above the entrance. It was packed with pranksters hoping to get a good deal on the twins' original pranks. He was half tempted to go inside and buy some Skiving Snackboxes for Transfiguration, but imagining what anyone would say if they saw him willingly buying things from the Weaslys, he decided against it.   
  
Draco sat at his window quite sometime after his trip to Diagon Ally, feeling considerably better than he had last night. That wasn't hard to believe, however, since last night had been the worst night of his life, after all.  
  
"Tomorrow," he said to his great horned owl whom he was stroking as he stared out the dark window of his bedroom. "We'll be back tomorrow, Hades.  
  
"I saw Pansy today." The owl seemed to perk up at the sound of her name. "Yeah, you like her, don't you, boy?" Hades hooted softly in response. He smiled to himself at the thought of Pansy seeing him talking so affectionately to the owl. He usually pretended to be annoyed with him. Little did the rest of the Slytherins know, Hades was about the only companionship he had around during the holidays. Well, there was always his family, but neither his father nor his mother was as civilized as the owl.  
  
He screwed up his face. He all of a sudden had a terrible stomachache. He gripped his abdomen with his arms, gasping. "Ow, ow!!" he whispered. The pain was great, worse than falling off his broom. He stumbled over to his bed and collapsed upon it, still breathing heavily. His head was spinning. He had a terrible taste in his mouth, foreshadowing that he would be sick if this didn't stop soon. He moaned in agony.   
  
And then it just stopped. He lay there, curled in a little ball on his bed with tears on his face, gasping. What the hell was that about?  
  
He didn't feel motivated to move out of the comfortable position he was in, to put of pajamas or even get under his sheets. He just stayed, fully clothed, in a little ball thinking about what had just happened to him until he fell asleep.   
  
It seemed he had only been dreaming for a few minutes when he felt rough hands shake him awake. "You idiot!! What are you doing here? How did you miss the Call?" Before even being fully awake, someone smacked him across the head, making thinking even more difficult.   
  
"What?" he said, opening his eyes to see his father standing over him looking angrier than Draco had ever seen him.   
  
"My son," Father said, apparently to himself, hoisting Draco off his bed to a standing position. "What the HELL is the matter with you? You were supposed to be at the meeting a half-hour ago, you stupid boy!" He backhanded his son across the face again, causing him to stagger backwards and fall back onto his bed.   
  
"I didn't feel the Call," Draco said, grabbing a tissue off his bedside table to stem the flow of the blood that had begun to flow from his nose. Then realization hit. "Does the call give you a stomachache? I thought it was just the Mark…?"  
  
"A… stomachache? What the hell are you rambling about, boy?"  
  
Draco looked at the clock. Sure enough, he had been asleep for about a half an hour. "I got a really bad stomachache about a half-hour ago. Could that have been caused by the Call?" Lucius studied him for a moment, then shook his head.   
  
"Perhaps Avery was right. Maybe you were too young. Perhaps your body can't handle the power…." Draco felt his heart stop at the disappointment on his father's face. Terrible as he was, he was Draco's father, and Draco had never wanted anything more that to make him proud, even at the expense of forgetting about who he really was.  
  
"No, Father, it's fine," he lied. "Let's go." Draco walked over to his desk and opened the top drawer, pulling out a black stone with ancient writings engraved into it in red. It would transport him to the Death Eater meetings and back home again. "Meet you there." And with regrets, he said the words "take me to the meeting" and found himself instantly in a large lounge, Death Eaters with their masks pulled up were sitting in armchairs in their usual circle.

Thanks again for reading, and if you want me to love you more, review! Peace.


	3. Chapter 3

Finally my little sis got off the computer so I could post chapters 3 and 4 (they were sorta supposed to be one chapter, but it got too long ;) ! sigh Sisters. Thanks sooo much to my reviewers; IcyPanther, Black-Tinged-With-Pink, Thal-Greenleaf, and Miko Kikyou, you guys are so awsome and I swear when I get some time I'll read your stuff too!

Disclamier: It wasn't mine before, and it isn't mine now.

. He took his place in the chair two seats to Voldemort's right and his father soon filled the chair directly at the leader's right hand. He gave Draco a very nasty look.   
  
"Ahh, my dear Draco, where have you been?" the Dark Lord said. Draco couldn't utter a sound. He wasn't sure how to explain himself. He knew now that he had gotten sick when his Mark had burned, causing him not to notice the slight pain in his arm. "You didn't try to resist the Call, did you, my boy?" Draco shook his head firmly. He hadn't resisted on purpose. Even he wasn't dumb enough to resist when the Dark Lord was calling him.   
  
"And we're even here to discuss important planning which includes you." Voldemort smiled his evil smile, and Draco felt an unpleasurable squirm in his stomach. 'You see, we need you to spy on the Longbottom boy…."  
  
"Longbottom?" Draco interrupted. "But that doesn't make sense. I thought if anything I'd be spying on Potter…."  
  
"I want him on my side." Draco could simply not contain a small snicker.   
  
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think you want Longbottom on your side. He's almost a Squib!"  
  
"You do not know him, Draco, so do not make assumptions. Also," His voice got very dangerous. "Do not argue with me. I believe Neville Longbottom will be a great wizard, strong in mind, body, and powers, and if you must know, I want to get him while he is still so very weak." He smirked. "Especially so emotionally weak. So you see, I want you to spy; find a weakness, something he cares about more than anything in the world perhaps, to use against him. Blackmail. Any information you can find. Do you understand?"  
  
One of the two females in the room spoke. It was his Aunt Bellatrix. "I apologize greatly, Master, to be forced to say this, but I do not think the boy will be persuaded. He hates us all, especially me." She grinned rather proudly and Draco remembered that it had been she who had tortured his parents to insanity. "I do not see any way this could work."   
  
Draco looked expectantly at Voldemort, wondering if he was going to get mad. Instead however, he looked thoughtful. "I overlooked that point, Lestrange, thank you. Still though, I want you to try to find something, Draco. Just in case. No one ever said he had to come willingly. If he will not join, I shall simply use him to my will and then dispose of him. All I know is that I need to speak with that boy and perhaps have him do biddings under the Imperious curse. Do not let me down, Draco." The blond nodded. Great, now he had to hang out with Longbottom on top of being a stupid Death Eater in the first place. Life sucked.   
  
The meeting may have lasted an hour or so more, Draco was not sure as he had fallen asleep in his chair. It had been too comfortable; the heat from the fire too warm. He dreamed he was trapped in a little box that was getting smaller and smaller by the moment. He would be squashed soon, he needed to get out. He father's face was in front of him, laughing at him….  
  
"Draco!" someone hissed in his ear. He woke with a start to find every Death Eater's eyes upon him.  
  
"Aw, how sweet! Our baby Death Eater is sleepy!" Avery mocked from his spot by the fire. It had been he who didn't want Draco there in the first place, saying he was far too young. "I told you that you should have never bothered, Lucius. Can't even make a meeting without falling asleep." Draco's face got very hot. He looked for his father for support, then realized how stupid that had been in the first place, since his father never supported him. He only glared. He was not the only one. Bellatrix looked ready to strangle him.   
  
"How dare you sleep when the Dark Lord is speaking to you? How dare you?!" she said angrily. Others nodded and murmured in agreement. Draco was suddenly very scared. What if Voldemort was mad too? What would happen to him? Frantically he looked around, for a face, any face, who showed understanding.   
  
The Dark Lord was smiling at him, but Draco wasn't sure weather to take that as a good thing or a bad thing. He didn't want to chance it. He jumped from his chair and sank into a bow in front of Voldemort's. "I'm sorry my…my lord." The words felt strange coming from his mouth.   
  
"I think I can forgive you this once, Draco," Voldemort sneered. "But take care that it doesn't happen again." Draco nodded furiously and rose, returning to his seat.   
  
"I think that is all for tonight. You may return home, unless you wish to speak with me on your own. Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight," the Death Eaters chorused back. And quickly, before his father could round on him, Draco pulled out the stone and said "take me home."


	4. Chapter 4

Ditto from chapter three, and I still don't own anything!!!

By the time Draco finally fell asleep, it was at least five in the morning, since he hadn't even begun to pack his new things (and his old things) in his trunk. It seemed like his grateful slumber was interrupted after merely minutes.   
  
"Draco!" his mother called shrilly. "Come get some breakfast, dear!" He just moaned and rolled onto his side, not even bothering to open his eyes. Just a few more minutes….  
  
But he was too hungry. He had gone to bed without eating, even though he was hungry. He had simply been too tired to do anything but collapse upon his bed. Opening his eyes took some real effort; each lid felt as if it weighed about a ton. He stood up fast, so as not to prolong his agony, put on his green bathrobe, and walked slowly downstairs and into the large kitchen.   
  
The cook, Amelia, was cleaning up what appeared to be pancake batter. Upon seeing him, she dropped her rag on the red marble counter and curtsied.   
  
"Good morning, young Master Malfoy," she said. "Your pancakes are on the table."   
  
"Thank you, Amelia," Draco said quietly, before sitting down at the large wooden kitchen table that was much too big for only the two of them. It was covered in a black satin tablecloth, the food on dishes of pure silver.   
  
"We're leaving for the train in an hour, Draco dear, ok?" Mother said.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he said, taking a large gulp of orange juice.   
  
He seemed to be in a different world during breakfast. He didn't hear a word his mother said, merely nodding or saying "yeah" every few seconds. He left the table quickly to dress and get ready.   
  
He slept on the way to King's Cross, barely felt his mother's too-proper hug and kiss, and could hardly recall getting his stuff on the train. He wandered into the Prefect's compartment, only to run into someone—literally.   
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, not even realizing who it was until she spoke.   
  
"Did you just apologize to me, Malfoy?" Granger's voice was full of mock surprise. He turned around and sighed.   
  
"Ya know, Granger, I'm too tired to even be able to come up with a comment for that so I suppose that yes, I apologized to you."  
  
"You look awful," she said. He raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Thanks…."  
  
"No! That's not what I meant," she said quickly, blushing. "I just meant…."  
  
"It doesn't matter, Granger," Draco sighed, leaving her to sit by himself in a corner, absolutely exhausted.   
  
The Prefect compartment was large and decorated very brightly. The walls were a purplish pink, the carpet turquoise, everything else was gold. There was an orange table piled with sweets and drinks, around which students were chatting with their friends.   
  
Draco had just been drifting off in one of the lime green seats, when a high voice woke him abruptly.  
  
"What's wrong, Draco?" Pansy asked, sitting beside him and tousling his blond hair. It didn't do much, however; he had gelled his spikes to a veritable plastic.   
  
"'M tired," he mumbled. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."  
  
"What were you doing?" she asked. Draco gave the most mischievous smirk he could muster.   
  
"That's my business," he said, raising his eyebrows. She gasped, grinning. He knew exactly what she was thinking he did last night, and that was precisely what he wanted her to think. "Now let me sleep." He leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes again. Pansy gave an exasperated sigh, making it apparent that she wanted the non-existent details, but when he didn't stir, she left him.  
  
He was running as fast as he could through a forest that was thick with trees. He was trying to stick to the path, but hands were pushing him off it. He tripped and the hands rolled him into the unpathed woods and then off a cliff. He was falling, screaming….  
  
"Draco! Draco, get up!" It was Pansy again.   
  
"What do you want?" he asked in irritation. "I thought I told you to let me sleep."  
  
"But we're going to be there in about two minutes and you still aren't even in your robes!"  
  
"What?" he said stupidly, checking his watch. "Holy shit!" he yelled.   
  
"Language, Malfoy!" someone said, but he paid them no mind. He slipped off into one of the Prefect dressing rooms off the compartment and changed as the train slowed. As it came to a halt, he was just fastening the last button of his cloak.   
  
"Nice timing," he said to himself, running to the train exits to show the other students off.   
  
And so he sat at the feast, sneering at the new Slytherins. He couldn't ever remember being that small, least of all while he was at Hogwarts.   
  
"So Greg, what you do this summer?" Draco asked his friend, Gregory Goyle, who was shoving food into his mouth in enormous quantities.   
  
"Nothin'," he replied stupidly. A few girls said "Eww!!!" at the sight of his half-chewed food.   
  
Draco shook his head. Why did he even bother asking?   
  
"Hey, kid," he said to a first year a few seats down from him. "Um, midget with the black hair!" The kid turned around and looked at him, saying nothing. "Kid, what's your name?"  
  
"Bobby," he said.   
  
"Yeah, Bobby, pass me the pumpkin juice, would ya?" The kid grabbed the pitcher with both hands and passed it to Draco who smirked.   
  
"What's your name?" the kid asked back.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," he replied automatically. The boy gasped.   
  
"Are you related to the Death Eater Malfoy? Who escaped from prison?" he asked in horrified awe. Draco gave him a strange look, a mix of anger and confusion.  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?" The kid just shrugged and went back to his food. Draco's hand absentmindedly went to his left forearm. He looked at Crabbe on one side, to Goyle his other.   
  
"What the hell was that about?" he asked them both. They shrugged. Again, he wondered why he ever bothered asking.   
  
"Hey, quit throwing food, or I'm giving you detention," Draco called down the table at a third year named Alex Monk.  
  
Not liking the eerie silence growing between he and his friends, he decided to resort back to an old pastime; Potter.   
  
"So Crabbe, Goyle, we never decided what we're doing to Potter for what he did to my father," he whispered. The two stupid oafs that Draco sadly enough called his best friends looked all excited and leaned in toward him, nearly squashing him with their masses.   
  
"Any ideas?" He could have smacked himself. Could he have asked a dumber question?   
  
"I have an idea!" Crabbe said proudly. Draco just stared at him, unable to believe his ears.   
  
"What is it Crabbe?" he asked slowly.   
  
"We should push him off a cliff!" Draco continued to just stare, though now in awe at his stupidity, rather than the fact that he had come up with an idea.   
  
"That would be great, Crabbe, if it wasn't for the minor detail," He held up his fingers a fraction of and inch apart. "That we don't have a cliff!"   
  
Someone tapped him on the back. He turned in his seat to see Pansy and their friend Carla, a short girl with hair died black and more body piercings than Draco cared to count.   
  
"Come on, we're heading back to the common room," Pansy said quietly. "Leave these idiots; you look ready to kill them both." Draco nodded and made to stand up. However, they were all seated by a look from Snape, saying clearly that Dumbledore was still going to speak to them.   
  
After everyone had had their fill, the contents of the golden plates and goblets disappeared, leaving them perfectly clean.  
  
"If I may have your attention!" the headmaster said. A hush fell over the Great Hall and all eyes fell on Dumbledore; even Draco's for once.   
  
"Welcome back, welcome back." The professor had a tired look about him that Draco had never noticed before. Maybe he's dying, Draco thought with glee. Maybe without him, the Mudbloods would get kicked out….  
  
"As you are all aware, recent events have made safety an important issue. Voldemort's return to power, the escape of Death Eaters from Azkaban," Dumbledore was looking directly at Draco. Draco looked down at the Slytherin table and started playing with the hem of the tablecloth, looking anywhere but at the headmaster now. He noticed several other pairs of eyes on him. "among other things, have made the rules at Hogwarts much more strict and the penalties for breaking those rules far more severe.  
  
"First of all, no one shall enter the Forbidden Forest under any circumstances, including for any class. This is always a rule, but is being much more strictly enforced this year. Second, you shall not leave the castle, even to wander the grounds, without first informing a teacher or other supervisor. The last rule is only for those able to attend Hogsmade trips. I want no less than four people traveling together at all times.  
  
"On a lighter note, Hogwarts shall be hosting another ball this winter, which all ages are permitted to attend. Why, you may ask? Because in light of the current situation, I think a time for you all to have fun and perhaps form bonds with members of other Houses will be refreshing.   
  
"I also believe an introduction is in order. Professor Delecour will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and will also take on the Theory of Spell Creation classes." Dumbledore indicated a woman at the staff table with silvery blond hair and pale pink robes.  
  
The applause following her tiny bow and smile and wink was deafening.   
  
And no wonder; she was gorgeous. Draco recognized her as the girl who had been in the Triwizard Tournament two years ago. He felt a squirming in his stomach as he looked at her, mouth open.   
  
"When you're through drooling, we can head up now," Carla said, pulling Draco out of his trance. She and Pansy were behind him again, smirking. He just smirked right back and stood up.  
  
"Damn," he said as they left the Great Hall. 'There is nothing I wouldn't do to get in her robes." The girls giggled and he amused himself with a pleasurable brief mental picture. "Well," He put his arms around the girls. "She's a teacher so I guess you gals will have to do. So who's first?"   
  
"Eww!" they chorused, giggling and throwing his arms off them.   
  
"Your loss… UGH!" All of a sudden, he was flat on the floor.   
  
"Whoops," said a voice from above him. He looked up to see two Ravenclaw boys sneering at him. "Sorry bout that, Death Eater." They walked away, snickering.   
  
What the hell?  
  
Draco pushed himself up off the floor and looked at Pansy. "What the fuck was that about?" As if in answer to his question, he heard another voice, a female by the sound of it, shout "How's your father, Death Eater?" from across the hall.  
  
So that was what it was. His father was a Death Eater and now everyone knew.   
  
He started off at a fast pace, leaving the girls behind. He heard their shouts to wait, but he ignored them. If anything the calls made him go faster.   
  
Whispering as he passed. Sneers. Threatening glares. He felt like everyone was staring at him, their eyes boring into him as though trying to break him into giving his father's or perhaps Voldemort's position, neither of which he knew anyway. Daring him to use black magic. They assumed him to be evil. To be just like him. He wished they'd stop staring.  
  
He had given out three detentions by the time he reached the Slytherin common room. The reasons had been very stupid, but he was very upset at the moment.   
  
He felt a bit better however, upon walking into the stone common room. Beautiful, comfortable green chairs and couches surrounded the large fireplace. Above the mantle, a portrait of Salazar Slytherin hung, glaring down at everyone. He never moved, never spoke. He was rather like a Muggle painting, actually, except his eyes. Everything was lit with torches and candles as tall as any of them, and the flames flickered in both orange and green, depending on their mood.   
  
"Malfoy!" called a voice just as he stared down the hall to the boys' dormitories. He turned to see Lander Cayce, a burly seventh year. "Hey, Malfoy, come 'ere!" Draco turned, robes sweeping, and strode across the room to where Cayce was standing by the fire.   
  
"What?" he snapped, looking daggers at the person who dared to intrude on his thoughts.   
  
"I'm Quiditch captain this year, and we need a two new Chasers and a Beater. You need to come to the tryouts, kay? They're gonna be on Saturday at noon."  
  
"What's today?"  
  
"Tuesday."  
  
Draco nodded. "I'll be there.''  
  
"Ya know," Draco muttered under his breath, starting back down the dark, narrow corridor. "If I were captain, I wouldn't put so many fuckin' seventh years on the team." He stopped at a door near the end of the hall. There was a silver plaque on it reading "Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe." Slytherins preferred privacy, so unlike the other Houses, their dormitories were two to a room.   
  
The dorm was big enough, stone like the rest of the House, lit with torches. The hangings on the bed, the carpet, and their blankets were green. There were no windows, as they were underground.   
  
Draco sat on the edge of his bed, which every year was the one closer to the door. His things had already been brought up and he put his feet on his trunk, as it was at the end of the bed. He then rested his elbows on his legs and buried his head in his hands.  
  
"Great," he mumbled. "Just dandy. Those damn Gryffindors are gonna get me so bad." And after what he'd been doing to them for years, he knew it was true. He could see it now; all of them with some stupid buttons saying awful things about him. "Why did I start that whole button-thing in the first place?"   
  
"Who are you talking to?" Crabbe said stupidly. Draco looked up at him, very seriously.  
  
"The bogart under my bed."  
  
"You have a bogart under your bed?!" the idiot asked fearfully. Draco rolled his eyes, but figured he may as well use the oaf's stupidity to his own advantage.   
  
"Yup. He's my pet." He said, trying to keep his face straight. "So you better be good Crabbe!"  
  
Crabbe didn't look too happy about this. Draco vividly remembered the time they had been battling bogarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Crabbe's had actually turned into giant crab, causing the entire class to laugh at the irony of the situation. Crabbe however, had not found it funny, and could not seem to get the spell right. He had been blatently terrified and that poor-boy Lupin teacher had to help him out.   
  
This caused Draco to wonder dully if Voldemort would ever even accept either Crabbe or Goyle, as they had even less sense than their fathers—and that wasn't saying much.   
  
Lucky them, he thought.

Thanks muchos for reading, you guys are great!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5! It's not particularly eventful and I appoligize for the clifhanger-ish ending. Thanks again to my reviewers! And an extra thanks to Chibi Sephy for bringing the owl/ Weasley mistakes to my attention! I could have sworn i went through and fixed all the misspelled "Weasleys", but I guess not. Also, I'm not gonna be able to update for a while cuz I'm going to Flordia for 2 weeks! I'm so excited! But yeah, enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, do you really think we'd still be waiting for the 6th book?

Schedules were passed out the next morning at breakfast. Draco had N.E.W.T Potions first, Transfiguration, and then Theory of Spell Creation; all periods were doubled from here on out.   
  
"Sweet," he muttered in response to the prospect of spending an entire double period with that gorgeous new teacher.   
  
Draco made his way to his first class flanked by Crabbe and Goyle on either side, complaining about only getting two O.W.L.'s each.   
  
"Well, I don't know what you two expected," Draco said as they turned a corner in the dark dungeons. "Considering the fact that you hardly studied at all. In fact, you would have failed all of your exams completely if it hadn't been for me spoon-feeding you the information in my notes." Despite Draco's harsh tone, neither was offended.   
  
However, when they parted, Draco was less than disappointed. For once, he really wanted to be alone.  
  
"Drake!" someone called just as he was entering Professor Snape's classroom.   
  
So much for the "alone" idea.   
  
"Drake, you're in this class too? That's sweet." The boy, several inches taller than Draco, brushed a lock of light brown hair out of his eyes.   
  
"Duh, Blaise, you idiot, I'm the best at potions in the year," Draco replied smugly. However, it wasn't bragging; it was the truth.   
  
"'Cept for Granger," Blaise said, nodding toward a bushy-headed figure sitting in the back row with a smirk. Rolling his eyes, Draco smacked his friend on the back of the head.   
  
"No chance that Mudblood's better than me." He examined Granger. She was looking over his head, as though checking to see if someone was there yet, and Draco had a sickening suspicion who.  
  
"God, Blaise, she's looking for someone, you don't think Potter made it in this class do you?"  
  
"Actually," said a horribly familiar voice from behind him. He spun around to see the boy he despised above all others. "Potter did make it in this class, and if you don't mind, he'd like to go inside. You're blocking the door." Draco felt his face get very hot.  
  
"Well if it isn't the world famous Dark wizard catcher," he spat.   
  
"Yep, and you're next on my list, so be nice and maybe I won't turn you in." Draco was going to explode, he knew it.  
  
"I'll get you Potter. You just wait," Draco said in his most terrifyingly deadly whisper. "My father…."  
  
Potter smirked. "Tell me about your father, dear Draco," he said in mock sweetness.   
  
Hopelessness. It was a feeling Draco had never experienced at school, only at home. He couldn't think of anything to say in response. He looked to Blaise, but he had already sat down to avoid being in the fight. There was a burning behind his eyes. He had to get out of there.   
  
"Why don't you go ruin someone else's life, Potter?" he whispered, before turning to join Blaise in the front row. He slammed his bag on the floor beside his chair and stared determinedly forward. He could feel Potter's eyes boring into his back, however. The burning got worse. He swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling with such force, he wouldn't have been surprised to see he had burned a hole in it. Not here. Anywhere but here. But a lump was raising in his throat. It was as though losing to Potter was the final straw after all he'd been through.   
  
"You aren't lettin' Potter get to you, are ya, Drake?" Blaise smirked. Draco forced a sneer of his own, swallowing the lump in his throat and pushing the burning in his eyes back into his head.   
  
"Saint Potter?" he laughed. "Get to me? Yeah, like that'll ever happen!"   
  
What a lie.  
  
"Settle down students!" Finally, Draco thought, thankful that his Potions master was finally here. The hushed conversations being held by the students in attendance ceased as Professor Snape stood before the class.   
  
"So," he began. Draco prepared himself to listen carefully. "It seems you have all made into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, a very difficult honor to come by, even if you made it in by pure default." It was apparent that that statement had been directed at someone specific, who was not Draco, as Snape's black eyes were focused somewhere behind him. "However some of you," this time his eyes did snap to Draco who maintained eye-contact with his professor. "I know for a fact, are up to the challenge, and with patience and care, will do well in this difficult class." A smile played around Draco's lips, though he tired hard to suppress it until Snape looked away, which he did.   
  
"Today will simply be a review day, for not knowing the basics will make this class impossible and very dangerous. You will use the steps on the board," He tapped it with his wand and instructions appeared in blue chalk. "To create a familiar potion. By the end of the period, I want you to have a flask of it for grading and be able to tell me what the potion is. Begin." Professor Snape sat down at his desk and began working on some paper-work.  
  
After reading through the instructions once Draco already knew it was a Sleeping Drought and started on it.   
  
"Dude, do you know what it is?" Blaise whispered. Draco just shrugged, not caring to share his answer.   
  
So the assignment was graded and Draco got full marks. He picked up his bag, and was just heading out with Blaise when Professor Snape called him back.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy, may I have a word?"   
  
"Go on," he said to Blaise, turning around and approaching Professor Snape's desk.   
  
"Yes sir?"  
  
"Close the door, Mr. Malfoy." A little confused and not sure what he had done, he did. Snape sighed. "Now, I don't usually do this, but is there anything you want to tell me? Anything bothering you at all?"  
  
"Professor, it's only my second day back, nothing's really bothering me yet…."  
  
"That isn't what I mean." Draco thought about his father, Potter, the whole Death Eater business, and decided against it. He shook his head. The professor just glared at him.   
  
"Don't do anything stupid, Malfoy," was all he said before telling his to get off to class.   
  
"That was really weird," he said to himself as he walked down the hall. "Hey!"  
  
Someone had grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was a boy from Ravenclaw he didn't know, and he had a very firm grip on Draco's left arm.   
  
"So is it true? Everyone's saying you're a Death Eater, like your slimy father." Draco struggled violently, but couldn't seem to get away.   
  
"Get off me!" he spat, pulling his wand out with his other hand.   
  
"No," he said. "I wanna see for myself."  
  
Oh God, Draco thought. He was trying to pull up the sleeve of his robes.   
  
"Expelliarmus!" Draco shouted, throwing the boy backwards and unfortunately sending Draco flying through the air. He yelled and fell back down with a crash.   
  
"Shit," he muttered. Didn't know that would happen. He set off at a fast pace, but still heard the boy's shout of: "Gee what a wimpy spell, I figured you would use the killing curse instead!"  
  
Draco's breathing was heavy, and his eyes were unfocused as he walked down the corridors that he knew by heart to the Transfiguration room. Anger was coursing through him like venom, accompanied by some other emotion that he just couldn't quite place. He had never felt it before and couldn't put a name on it. All he knew was that he hated it.  
  
Was this going to continue? This was the second time he had been violently confronted in his first two days of school. Nothing like this had ever happened before. This couldn't happen to him. Not to Draco Malfoy….  
  
Transfiguration sucked as usual. Draco just couldn't get his stupid bird to transfigure right. He couldn't keep his mind on it, and he wasn't very good even when he was in the proper mind-set. He kept getting funny looks from people, especially Potter, which made him do even worse, making him look very bad considering Mudblood Granger had gotten hers right the second try and even dared to offer him help.  
  
"No thanks," he had said coldly. "I don't want to get dirty."   
  
She didn't say another word the rest of the lesson and that was fine by him.  
  
After Theory of Spell creation (which had been a marvelous class; Draco hadn't been the only boy who hadn't been paying attention to anything but the teacher's face and their own fantasies about her) he decided to just get a jump start on his homework as he didn't want to talk to anyone. He went to dinner purposely late to avoid Pansy and blatently ignored that Crabbe and Goyle even existed.   
  
Saturday morning, Draco stepped onto the Quiditch pitch, joining the rest of his team. He was easily the smallest Slytherin Quiditch player, as the rest were the biggest, stupidest boys in the House (other than Crabbe and Goyle of course).   
  
Draco couldn't resist. He mounted his Nimbus Two-Thousand-One and flew twice around the pitch before Cayce told him to stop messing around. Though even as he grounded, he felt better than he had in months. The feeling of the wind in his face as he zoomed around on his broom had liberated him from his problems—for the moment anyway.   
  
He joined the rest of the team in front of a group of nervous-looking students. Most were of the same proportions as the rest of the team: big, tall and stupid boys. However, there were others who stuck out in the group. Two girls that Draco didn't know very well, but knew were named Christi and Jennifer, were there—though it was fairly common knowledge that only boys ever made it on the Slytherin team. To Draco's surprise, Blaise was standing next to a guy who looked almost exactly like a gorilla with less hair (but not much less). Draco caught his eye and raised his eyebrows, but Blaise just shrugged.   
  
By the time all the Chasers had tried out, Draco felt like strangling someone. The only ones who had been at all good had been Christi and Blaise but Christi was a brat and Cayce hated Blaise with a passion, but refused to say why.   
  
"Just put them on the fucking team, Cayce," Draco said, but he may as well have been talking to himself again for all the attention anyone gave him.   
  
The beater wannabees were better, "Thank God," Draco had whispered.   
  
And so Quiditch tryouts ended with the entire Slytherin team in an argument that Draco knew would soon get violent. Nonetheless, he stayed, trying to yell above the noise how stupid they were being and to calm down.   
  
In the end, Marks who, had a broken nose, Alexander Flint, the brother of their old captain Marcus Flint, who had been hit with various spells which caused him to turn a nasty shade of red and his ears to grow steadily, and Draco who, had been hit in various very painful places with a broom, nearly being knocked unconscious by an extremely hard blow right on his temple (everything kept going in and out of focus and there were lots of colors in front of his eyes that knew weren't supposed to be there), were in the hospital wing.   
  
It was there, at about three-thirty in the morning, Draco awoke with a stomachache so terrible he thought he was dying.   
  
Only this time he knew what it meant. When the pain stopped, Draco, panting and sweating, actually smiled. There was no way he could get to his stone now and therefore no way he could possibly get to that stupid meeting.   
  
Father was going to kill him.   
  
Too bad, Draco thought, it isn't like I planned for this to happen. Voldie will get over it and so will Father, worst that happens is I die, which isn't likely at all. A serious pain curse at Christmas? More than likely—but it was worth it.   
  
So Draco just rolled onto his other side and went back to sleep.   
  
The owls flooded into the Great Hall a few mornings after and an owl that Draco had never seen before crashed into his breakfast.   
  
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he growled at the brown-feathered creature, snatching the letter from its leg in an unnecessarily violent manner.   
  
"Whassa matter with you?" Goyle asked him in regard to his awful mood. In reality, it was nothing specific, just the usual, so he snarled a "Nothing, you idiot," and ripped open the letter.  
  
It was barely two sentences, written in horrifyingly familiar neat handwriting.  
  
Damn it that I should be plagued with such a dissapointing son. You are going to regret this next time I see you.   
  
He didn't know what he had expected, but it hadn't been that. Draco felt his stomach clench and all of a sudden regretted not going to the meeting. He was a Death Eater, damn it, he needed to be there; weather he wanted to or not. He felt like a failure again, because even though this wasn't the life he wanted, he needed to succeed in it.  
  
He was going to regret it. In theory, he did now, but that wasn't what his father had meant and he knew it. He was in for it.

Thanks much! Reviews are peachy keen! I'll be back in a couple weeks with chapter 6... maybe more, we're driving to Flordia. Talk about lots of time on my hands! Peace, Love, and Save the Whales!


	6. Chapter 6

I'm back at long last! Flordia was GREAT, but we drove and the transmission on our car broke, so we were stuck there a little longer than planned So, here's chapter 6. This story keeps taking some odd turns... I don't really have out exactly what's gonna happen, but, we shall see! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, there probably wouldn't even be a fanfiction section for it cuz I'm not the genius JK Rowling is!!!

"Mr. Malfoy, I need to speak with you, if you could stay for just another moment," McGonagall said. Draco sighed. This was the fourth time in his first three weeks at school he had been held after by a teacher; first Snape with his weird messages, then Delecour for not paying attention (he had deserved that one), then Flitwick for doing inappropriate things to his frog during class for laughs (he deserved that too), and now McGonagall for whatever stupid thing she needed to talk to him about.  
  
"Yes Professor?" he said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice. He wanted to get to Spell Creation.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I am very disappointed with your performance in this class," she said, adjusting her square spectacles. "How you managed an 'E' on your exams but yet fail everything I give you is not clear to me. Do you know what the problem is, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"No Professor," Draco lied. He knew perfectly well that he was stressed, and on top of it not being his best class, he was bound to fail. However, he wasn't going to tell McGonagall this. He wasn't going to tell anyone.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, you have failed the last two tests, all of your essays, and have not managed to fully transfigure anything all year. You must have some idea."  
  
"I guess I've developed a block about it," he said quietly and relatively truthfully. None of his other classes suffered when he was upset, only this one. In fact, stress made him do better in other classes because he was so determined to do well in everything. However as that is not possible, Transfiguration would slip.  
  
McGonagall eyed him over her glasses, then raised her eyebrows. "I have arranged a tutor for you," she said and Draco detected a sneer in her voice.  
  
"Professor, I don't need a tutor," he said, forcing a laugh. The look on her face was not making him feel very comfortable with the idea. However, she ignored him and went on.  
  
"Your tutor is the best in this class out of all four Houses, and if she cannot help you, I don't know who can." Her sneer, though still not really on her face, was so obvious in her voice Draco felt a tingle shoot down his spine. He didn't like the sound of this. "You will work with her every Tuesday after diner in the library, as she is not in Slytherin; you don't have Quiditch practice that day. I expect you to be polite and to work hard, and to not make her life difficult. Transfiguration is very important and…."  
  
"Who is she?" Draco interrupted, asking the question that had been burning inside him since she started sneering. McGonagall gave him a rare smile that told Draco that he wouldn't find the answer nearly as amusing as she did.  
  
"Hermione Granger."  
  
And that is how he found himself sitting in the library at a table that was very well hidden, so no one would see him, arms folded across his chest, being glared at by Miss Mudblood herself.  
  
"Malfoy, would you just listen?" she said, smacking him on the shoulder.  
  
"Don't touch me," he replied, glaring right back at her. She sighed in a very irritated way.  
  
"Ya know, I'm no happier about this than you are, ok? Do you want help or not?" she spat. Draco just stared at her, feeling very, very unhappy.  
  
"I want help, just not from you," he said simply.  
  
"This is exactly what Ron said was going to happen, and he was right; this is pointless!" she exploded, receiving a "SHHH!" from Madam Pince.  
  
"Oooh, Ronny your lover?" Draco mocked dully. He still wasn't happy to be here.  
  
"What did you say to me?" she squealed.  
  
"Oh come off it, everyone knows you and Weasly have been gettin' it on since first year." Granger looked like she was going to explode and a smirk plastered itself on Draco's face. She was blushing and Draco knew immediately that he had touched a nerve. "You seriously like Weasly? I was just kidding!" He started laughing quietly.  
  
"No I don't!" she retaliated in a very unconvincing tone and she started blushing harder. This was great.  
  
"You teach me Transfiguration, I'll teach you how to lie, cuz you need the help." He snickered at her again. "Weasly, man that's disgusting! Can't wait to tell him." She looked horrified, then caught herself and changed the look to one of very fake uncaring.  
  
"There's nothing to tell him," she said, turning back to her book. Then she turned back. "You really wouldn't, would you?" she whispered. Draco smirked.  
  
"Give me one reason not to, Mudblood," he replied.  
  
"Because McGonagall will fail you if you don't get help," she said in a would-be cool voice.  
  
"Fine," he shrugged, figuring he could use the info as blackmail instead. She gave him a strange look, but he didn't feel like continuing the conversation. "Just teach me, Professor Mudblood."  
  
"I'm a Prefect too you know," she snarled, "and I can give you a detention for language like that."  
  
"Well 'scuse me!" but a smile was playing on her lips, like she was holding back a laugh.  
  
"What the hell is so funny?" Draco asked, though he got an urge to laugh as well.  
  
"I… don't know!" and then she did start giggling. Draco looked at her like she was mad and tried to restrain his own snickers.  
  
"You're acting really, really, un-Grangerish." He realized what he had said and how messed up it must have sounded. He felt a blush tickle his cheeks and didn't really know why he cared.  
  
"You've been acting very odd the last couple days," she said out of the blue, laughter ceasing entirely. Draco's anger rose back up.  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "Can we please stick to the subject? I don't want to have to be able to say I had a conversation with you."  
  
And so she began explaining Transfiguration to him.  
  
About an hour into the explanation, he started to zone out.  
  
Damn, she really knows this stuff, he thought, not listening to her. He was amazed at the ease with witch big words and concepts rolled off her tongue. She started explaining wand movement, Draco was unsure of which spell it was for. Her curly hair bounced as she showed him what to do. He noticed curves in places they hadn't been the year before. The Mudblood could actually be quite pretty if she so chose….  
  
And then he was overcome by a terrible force, more evil than the Dark Lord himself. It was this force that caused him to lean in toward the Mudblood, to look her straight in the eyes, cutting off her sentence. This force that caused him to lean forward, brushing her lips with his own. Hers were so soft, and he lost all sense of self as he ran a hand through her hair. It was the force that made him move his tongue out of his own mouth and push it between her lips….  
  
Then he became aware of what he was doing.  
  
He jerked away so suddenly that she gasped. All of a sudden he was angry. Very angry.  
  
"You stupid Mudblood!" he shouted at the shocked and confused-looking Granger. "Look what you've done! Now I'm contaminated!!!" He stormed out of the library, ignoring Madam Pince's lecturing.  
  
He didn't know where he was going, but he was going there fast. Staircases, hallways and portraits seemed to zoom by him until he had no idea where he was. Then he opened a door and shut himself inside, panting.  
  
It wasn't a classroom, but some small, dark room, with nothing but what appeared to be a mirror in the far corner.  
  
Draco sank onto the floor, back against the back wall, gripping his hair.  
  
What in bloody hell had happened to him in there?  
  
"I kissed Hermione Granger," he said to himself. "Oh my God, I kissed Hermione Granger!" He was absolutely disgusted with himself but at the same time, looking back on it sent shivers down his spine; and not the bad kind.  
  
"She's going to tell Potter!" he muttered with sudden horror. Damn, this was going to be all over the school! Holy shit, his life was over!  
  
He glanced sideways into the mirror, but did not see himself. Or rather he did see himself, but it didn't look like him, save for the gray eyes and blonde hair which was much longer, his eyes colder.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
He sprang up, all thoughts of Granger leaving his mind. He stared into the mirror in horror, for where he should have been standing stood his father in the exact same position Draco was in.  
  
"What's going on?" he muttered. He moved his head, his arm, but whatever he did, his father's image did too. He looked behind him, but it was only he in the room.  
  
Draco trembled, feeling his face for any sign that he looked different, but as far as he could tell, everything was in order.  
  
But he was his father and he was even smirking just like him, looking too evil to be real.  
  
This couldn't be true. Whatever this mirror was showing him it was a lie. He was panting, tears in his eyes. He wasn't like him. He couldn't be.  
  
"What are you showing me?" he said to the mirror, his voice shaking. "Is it the future? Is it me? What the hell, I can't take this!" But he couldn't draw his eyes away. It was like watching a car crash.  
How long he stared at the mirror he did not know, but he did not care. "What is this?"  
  
"This is the mirror of Deracs, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
"What the fuck?!" Draco said, whipping around.  
  
"Language, Mr. Malfoy," said the person whom the voice belonged to. He had a long, silvery white beard and was wearing deep blue robes. Draco quickly composed himself. Dumbledore was not some one he wanted to appear weak in front of.  
  
"Good evening Professor Dumbledore," Draco said insincerely, almost sarcastically.  
  
"Same to you, Draco," the old man replied, eyes shining behind his half-moon spectacles. "Now, as I was saying, it appears you have stumbled across the mirror of Deracs." Draco said nothing. He wasn't getting into this conversation. Dumbledore smiled almost kindly. Almost.  
  
"Do you not wish to know why you are seeing yourself as your father, Draco?" Draco just shrugged which, when translated, meant yes you fucking idiot!! and he hoped Dumbledore would realize that.  
  
"You see," he continued, "the mirror of Deracs shows the looker something deep inside themselves. Do know what that might be, Draco?" Did he really have to say his name in every sentence? Draco was not going to talk to him, couldn't he realize that? Draco just raised his eyebrows at his headmaster. Dumbledore had never shown any interest in him since the moment he arrived at this school. Never really spoken directly to him. Never really even indicated Draco was there except for when he was in trouble.  
  
"You don't know?" the headmaster pressed. "Well I suppose I shall have to tell you for otherwise, this experience may haunt you." Draco glanced at Dumbledore for a moment, to indicate that he was listening. He did not however, meet his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to out of sheer intimidation.  
  
"You see, Draco, this mirror shows the observer his deepest, darkest fear."  
  
"Wait," Draco interrupted, an acidic edge to his voice. "You mean to tell me that you came in here, invisible or transfigured or something, and now you know my worst fear?!" Rage was bubbling in side him, threatening to boil over. "You have no right to do that." Dumbledore looked down.  
  
"I do not. It was an accident, Draco, that I happened to stumble upon you in here, and I am immensely sorry to have invaded something that is, in reality, very personal."  
  
"You should be," he spat. But his mind was racing. So that's what it meant, a fear. Thank God, I thought it was something worse than that….  
  
But now Dumbledore knew which might be worse. It's better for everyone to think he was a Death Eater than to know he was scared of his father… or being his father… or whatever.  
  
"What I have seen of you tonight makes me wonder about your relationship with your father." It's none of your business, old man, Draco thought. Just stop right there and stay out of my life. "I wonder if I could speak with you…."  
  
"No," Draco interrupted icily. "You only want to find out from me what the other side's up to because you think I know."  
  
"Draco…."  
  
"Take your 'talking' and your 'feelings' to Potter. He's the only one you care about anyway." And Draco stormed off, leaving a bewildered Dumbledore behind him. This day was beginning to feel worse than his initiation…. Ok maybe not that bad, but close.  
  
And to make matters worse, on his way to the common room he felt the immense pain that was Voldemort's Call, causing him to double over and attract many strange looks. He swallowed hard, hoping to maybe swallow the pain as well. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass, and when it did he bolted to his room so he wouldn't be late.  
  
"Take me to the meeting," he whispered into his stone back in his dorm, after being very sure no one would walk in on him.

Like I said, some odd turns. The things I come up with while bored out of my mind in a mini-van over crowded with little siblings lol. Mucho love!


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